


The Tadfield Pig Racing Championships

by AppleSeeds, WizzyGold



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Adorable, Alternate Universe - Human, Cute, Digital Art, Fluff, Getting Together, Lonely Aziraphale (Good Omens), Lonely Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Mutual Pining, No Angst, Oblivious Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens), Pig Dads, Pig Racing, Shy Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29939556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizzyGold/pseuds/WizzyGold
Summary: Crowley is entering his pig into the prestigious Tadfield Pig Racing Championships and has no doubt that his beloved Princess will do amazingly well. His plan is to avoid speaking to other people as much as humanly possible, after all, it's not like he's trying to make friends. Things don't exactly go according to plan when he meets the ridiculously handsome and lovely Aziraphale, who also has a pig in the competition, and who keeps finding him between the races to talk to him. As they get to know each other better, their pigs start getting very closely acquainted too...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 136
Collections: GO Meet-Cutes, Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Races 1 and 2

**Author's Note:**

> WizzyGold shared a video of [pig racing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nyrNPl6JXWU&t=2s), Oniria_Creation said "pig racing AU?" and then this adorable lump of fluff happened. <3
> 
> Thank you to Oniria_Creation, rapunzel713 and KissMyAsthma for all your input! :-)
> 
> Story written by AppleSeeds, artwork by WizzyGold. Find us on Twitter @AppleSeedsGO and @acsalva_art!
> 
> (PS - Imagine Frances McDormand as the race commentator!)

With his pig cradled in his arms with her eyes closed, snuffling softly, her snout twitching against his shoulder, Crowley crossed the field towards the holding paddock. This was his first time at the Tadfield Pig Racing Championships, one of the top pig races in all of England.

“You’re gonna do great, Princess,” Crowley whispered, pressing his cheek to hers, narrowing his eyes as he cast a brief, evaluating glance over the other pigs already in the paddock as he approached. His gaze didn’t linger, however. It didn’t really matter what the other pigs looked like; none of them stood a chance against Princess.

Crowley lowered his pig into the paddock and she immediately bounded off in the direction of a particularly tasty-looking dandelion, seeming exceptionally proud of herself as she sunk her teeth into it. Crowley’s chest filled with pride. _Yeah, you beat them all to it! Good girl._

A man and a woman approached the paddock together and lowered in another pig. Crowley caught the tail-end of their conversation as he watched Princess ignore the newcomer and focus entirely on snuffling about in pursuit of more tasty weeds.

“But I still don’t see why these things have to start so early on a Saturday.”

“Ours is not to question why, Maud. Ours is to deliver our pig to the holding paddock as instructed.”

The woman laughed.

“Oh, I love you, you ridiculous man. Come on, let’s go and find the tea.”

They kissed each other with the kind of affection that suggested many years of happy marriage, and Crowley let his gaze follow them for a moment as they headed towards the food stalls, each with an arm around the other. Heaviness settled in Crowley’s chest, but he scowled and averted his gaze in an attempt to alleviate the pressure.

Now that Crowley had dropped off Princess he was feeling at a bit of a loose end. But he would be fine. It was _fine_ that he didn’t have anyone with him (besides Princess of course, but she was going to be busy winning a trophy), and it was _fine_ that he didn’t know anyone here who he could talk to. It was completely fine. Crowley would find ways of entertaining himself. He always did.

Crowley ambled off towards the edge of the field, away from the growing crowds, making himself as inconspicuous as possible against the hedge. He zoned out of the sound of people chattering excitedly and kids squealing as they ran around the field inventing their own games and took out his phone to distract himself. He immediately discovered that, unsurprisingly, there was no signal here in the middle of nowhere, and shoved it back in his pocket, along with his hands, with a sigh.

After a few minutes, a disembodied voice materialised over the giant speakers set up on either side of a huge screen at the edge of the field.

“Welcome to the Tadfield League of Pigs Summer Pig Racing Championships! Our first race will start at ten o’clock! In the meantime, let’s meet today’s pigs and speak to some of their owners!”

 _Ugh_. Crowley could do without this part. He sunk back into the hedge a bit like that Homer Simpson gif, hoping that no one would try to approach him. Footage of the holding paddock appeared on the big screen, zooming in on each pig in turn and displaying their name and key statistics like weight and length.

“We have eight pigs racing today; let’s start with Tadfield’s reigning champion! This is Speed Demon.”

The screen showed a long, skinny, jet black pig with amber eyes, wearing a red ribbon around its neck and prancing around like it owned the place.

_Ha! **That’s** the reigning champion?_

This was going to be the easiest race Crowley’s Princess had ever won.

“Let’s have a chat with Speed Demon’s owner, Aziraphale Fell. Hello, Aziraphale.”

“Ah, hello, my dear.”

The screen flicked over to the pig’s owner and Crowley blinked, his mouth hanging open and his heart fluttering in his chest. He quickly caught himself, glancing around to check no one had spotted his reaction. The man on the screen was almost ethereal, his cheeks rounding as he smiled warmly at the owner of the disembodied voice behind the camera, whose appearance seemed destined to remain a mystery. His fluffy white-blond curls looked outrageously soft, and he was wearing a pale blue shirt with fucking _braces_ , topped off with a ridiculous tartan bowtie. Everything about him was ridiculous, and yet he was quite possibly the most handsome man Crowley had ever laid eyes on.

“So, Aziraphale, do you fancy Speed Demon’s chances of taking away another trophy today?”

Aziraphale’s smile broadened, his eyes crinkling attractively in the corners. “I should say he has a very good chance, yes.”

“You get quite a few comments about his slight build, don’t you?”

Aziraphale laughed. The camera zoomed in a little, giving Crowley a better view of sparkling eyes, the colour resembling the pelt of a White Shorthorn x Galloway cross, only brighter and... _twinkly_.

_Shit._

“Ah, well, appearances can be deceiving. Those legs are pretty powerful, let me tell you. He broke a course record at his last race.”

“Well, good luck to both of you today! Thanks for talking to us, Aziraphale.”

“My pleasure.”

_‘My pleasure’..._

Once again the pigs in the holding paddock filled the screen, and Crowley’s breathing returned to normal. The camera focused in on a traditional, cute-looking pink pig that could have stepped right out of a children’s book. The name “Pig” came up on the screen. Crowley squinted.

“Next we have Pig, here with the Young family. Let’s talk to our youngest owner here today. Hello Adam.”

“Hi.”

A young boy with curly hair, probably about eleven years old, appeared on the screen with a grin on his face.

“I bet you get asked about Pig’s name all the time. What made you decide to name him Pig?”

“Saves a lot of trouble, a name like that.”

“Yes, I suppose it does!” There was laughter from behind the camera. “Pig is quite new to racing, isn’t he? How’s he been getting on?”

“Ok, I guess. He used to be a bit of a beast but he’s a softie now really, although he does like to torment the big ginger cat next door. He’s never won anything but that’s ok as long as he’s having fun.”

“Wise words for all of us, thank you, Adam. Good luck with the races today.”

The next pig to appear on the screen was mostly white with ginger stripes.

“This is Express Delivery. Fast, reliable, she’s had a lot of success internationally recently, and today she’s back here in her own backyard. Let’s have a chat with her owners! Lesley, Maud, lovely to see you again. How are you feeling about Express Delivery’s chances today?”

Crowley recognised the couple he had seen at the holding paddock earlier, all smiles, arms still wrapped around each other, so obviously in love. Which was fine. Crowley was fine.

“Well, she’s been busy recently so that might slow her down a bit,” Lesley replied. “We just got back from Des Moines, that’s in America; she won a ribbon there.”

“Congratulations. So you don’t think she’ll repeat that performance today?”

“Probably not, but we didn’t want her to miss a race so close to home,” Maud said with a smile. “We always have such a good time here.”

“Well, maybe she’ll surprise us if she’s managed to get over the jet lag!” the commentator joked, and they all laughed. Crowley started scuffing his foot against the grass, uprooting a lawn daisy that had never done anything to warrant such treatment but that served as a good distraction. “Thank you both, and good luck today. Right, up next we have Professional Descendant, here with her owner, Anathema Device.”

The pig that appeared on the screen was mostly bluish-grey with a few dark markings, including rings around her eyes that made her look like she was wearing glasses. She had a strange marking on one side that looked like some kind of occult symbol, and ginger patterns across her haunches that resembled flames. The phrase, ‘we are the descendents of the witches you couldn’t burn’ came to Crowley’s mind - that pig had a sneaky look in her eye, like she knew something important that he didn’t. It was a little unsettling.

“Professional Descendant comes from a long line of very successful racing pigs, so we’ll see whether or not genetics wins out again today! Anathema has, of course, gained quite a reputation for amassing a small fortune by successfully betting on pig races; she does somehow always seem to know what’s going to happen! Let’s ask her now about her top picks for today. Hello, Anathema.”

“Hi.”

“Any tips for the punters today?”

“Just to say that help could come from an unexpected quarter. Oh, and avoid the salads from the food stalls if you’ve got plans for tomorrow.”

“Keeping things mysterious as always, I see, well, who can blame you? Good luck today, Anathema.”

“Oh, I don’t need luck; it’s going to be a very good day for me. Sparks are going to fly.”

“Well, take that how you will, folks! Right, who’s up next? Oh yes, of course, Dick Turpin, here with owner Newton Pulsifer.”

The pig that appeared on the screen was brown, scruffy and, most notably, only had three legs.

“Hello Newt, can we have a chat with you?”

“Oh, hello... um... yeah, ok.”

The young man on the screen looked pretty awkward and nervous, even more so than Crowley would have if they’d managed to interview him, which was never going to happen.

“A lot of people doubted that Dick Turpin would be successful at pig racing, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, he was born with three legs, but he’s always loved to run around and I’ve always believed in him. I think you can do anything you want if you put your mind to it and stick with it. He’s done really well, won quite a few trophies now, actually. He doesn’t let anything stop him.”

“Well I hope he does well again today! Lovely to talk to you, Newt. Right, who else do we have here? Let’s have a look at Scooter, here with owner Tracy. Hello Tracy.”

The screen showed a ginger pig munching on grass in the paddock, then flicked to the owner, whose ginger hair was evidently not quite as natural as Scooter’s. Crowley wondered whether she’d dyed it to match the pig as kind of a ‘brand’ thing.

“Oh, hello dear.”

“Scooter hasn’t had much luck recently, has she?”

“No, I’m afraid not. She’s been coming last in most of her races for a while now, but it’d be a shame to retire her. I do like to let the old girl have a run around from time to time, but it’d take a miracle for her to go any quicker at her age.”

“Well, I can certainly relate to that. All the best for both of you today.”

Once again the screen was filled with what seemed to be a live broadcast of all of the pigs happily puttering about the paddock. Express Delivery was zooming around all over the place, which was good, she might tire herself out. Pig was literally wagging his tail. Speed Demon was still strutting about in an ostentatious attention-seeking kind of way.

_What right do you have to be seeking attention when you get to go home with an owner who’s so..._

_Oh no, I’m not gonna go there._

“I can’t see the other owners around,” the commentator continued, and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing and letting his body slump forward away from the hedge, “but let’s take a look at these last couple of pigs. This is Brian.”

_Yeah, because every pig race needs a **Brian**. Seriously, who comes up with these names?_

Brian had dug a hole in the ground and was wallowing in the mud. It looked like he’d started out a sort of creamy colour but now he was just covered in dirt, and looked exceedingly happy about it.

“Brian hasn’t won a race for a while, so I’m sure his owners have their fingers crossed for today... and that brings us to our final pig taking part in the competition. This is Tartan Princess.”

Crowley’s chest bloomed as his beloved pig took pride of place in the centre of the screen.

“This will be Tartan Princess’s first race in Tadfield. She is the heaviest of our pigs here today, but her past racing success suggests that her size is more of an asset than a hindrance. We’ll have to wait and see how she gets on today on unfamiliar ground.”

Crowley watched his pig snuffling around on the big screen, munching everything in her path.

_Yeah, go on girl, get those extra calories. You’ll show them all._

Tartan Princess was gorgeous. She wasn’t just heavy, she was _strong_ , and she had flawless white hair, beautiful bright blue eyes, and, befitting her name, a sleek tartan ribbon tied around her neck. Like Crowley, she was keeping to herself, after all, social interaction was seriously overrated. Most of the other pigs had all squashed up into a tub of water that had been set out in the paddock for them to bathe in. It was a pretty hot day, but Tartan Princess wasn’t fazed. Those poor, ignorant other pigs wouldn’t know what hit them.

The commentator’s voice re-materialised over the speakers.

“Our pigs will be taking part in six races today. At the end of the day, we’ll add up the scores and see which three little pigs have managed to earn themselves a place on our podium!”

_Your ‘little’ pigs can fuck right off, no one’s going to beat my Princess._

“Our first race will begin in ten minutes!”

The disembodied voice disappeared and the footage of the pigs on the screen was replaced by an animated logo for the Tadfield League of Pigs. Crowley inhaled deeply to try to settle his heart, which was quickening uncomfortably as race time approached. He breathed in the scent of freshly cut grass, summer wildflowers and, well, _pig_ , and scanned his eyes across the field. Most of the people he recognised as pig owners from their interviews on the big screen were gathered around the owner’s tent in the corner, which Crowley had only visited for the minimum amount of time possible when he’d first arrived, just long enough to let the organisers know he was here. There was a bouncy castle to keep the children entertained, and a few food stalls mostly selling doughnuts, ice cream and burgers, the only seemingly healthy option being the salads that the apparently psychic pig owner with the weird name had suggested avoiding. Quite a large crowd had gathered to watch the races, currently spread across the field, some clearly well-prepared for their day out, with deckchairs, drinks and binoculars. And company.

People were starting to gather beside the pig racing course, which was nothing more than a length of fenced-off grass with a red rope along the ground at the end as a finishing line, with a small holding pen for the pigs at the start. Trays of pig treats were being set out just past the rope as a reward for the pigs finishing the race, and Crowley could see that the selection included some of Tartan Princess’s favourites. _Excellent_.

“Owners, please collect your pigs and take them to the starting pen.”

Crowley glanced upwards at the disembodied voice and then over to the holding paddock. His intention was to hang back until the last possible moment to avoid having to interact with the other owners and to prevent Princess from having to spend too long in the starting pen. Once all of the other pigs had been moved, Crowley sauntered over to the paddock and scooped up Princess into his arms.

“Hello sweetness. I know, right? Yeah, I saw them. You’ve got this.”

Tartan Princess settled quickly in Crowley’s arms, and Crowley held her closely against him. He wondered whether she could feel how rapidly his heart was beating in his chest beneath her, but if she could, she didn’t show any sign of it. She closed her eyes and twitched her snout contentedly.

“Good girl.”

Crowley set Princess down carefully into the starting pen. There wasn’t any space left along the fence to watch, but Crowley used his height to his advantage, hanging back from the crowd and watching over the tops of their heads.

Crowley’s heart leapt up into his throat when the string was pulled and the wooden panel at the front of the starting pen fell forward, freeing the pigs. They all took off rapidly, eagerly bounding along the grass towards the treats awaiting them at the end. Well, with the exception of Scooter, who seemed content just to enjoy a pleasant amble towards the finish line. Express Delivery started out in front but was soon blocked by Dick Turpin, who then swerved into the path of Professional Descendant, holding her up too. Tartan Princess and Speed Demon both raced ahead on opposite sides of the course, neck-and-neck as they approached the finish line. At the end, _obviously_ , Tartan Princess’s determination to get first dibs on the treats won out, and she crossed the finish line in first place. Crowley grinned, restraining himself from celebrating too exuberantly, not wanting to attract attention to himself.

The pigs began fervently devouring the treats on the tray, those finishing towards the back trying to nuzzle their way in amongst the others with little success.

“The winner of race 1 is Tartan Princess, winning her first ever race at Tadfield! She’s here today with owner Anthony Crowley, he must be very proud!”

_Damn right._

“Our pigs are going to have a little break now; we’ll see you for our next race at half past ten!”

The owners all headed over to pick up their pigs once the treats were sufficiently depleted for the animals to have lost interest, taking them back to the holding paddock. Long after the other pigs had been removed, Tartan Princess was still licking the tray, and Crowley took advantage of the ground being dry to sit down on the grass beside her.

“Well done, Princess! I knew you could do it! Yeah, you eat as much as you want; you’re going to need a lot of energy today.” Crowley scratched his pig behind the ears and she snorted with satisfaction.

“Hello, Anthony?”

Crowley scrunched his face up. “Crowley,” he mumbled reflexively before looking up.

_Oh fuuuuck._

There, hovering over him, backlit by the sun, and looking even more like a fucking angel than he had before, was Speed Demon’s owner, _Aziraphale_ , and fuck if he wasn’t even more gorgeous in the flesh than he’d been on the big TV screen. Crowley scratched at Princess a little more vigorously, trying to dispel some of the nervous energy building inside him. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“Crowley. My apologies. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m Aziraphale,” he said softly, his voice so much more warm and gentle than it had seemed over the squeaky, tinny sound system. He was holding his hand out to Crowley, and with wide eyes, Crowley stopped frantically scratching Princess and took it, shaking his hand. A warm shiver shot down his spine, reaching all the way to his toes.

Aziraphale smiled and crouched down right beside him, rendering the simple act of breathing suddenly a lot more challenging. The fabric of his tan trousers tightened around his thighs as he squatted down, which Crowley decided was probably something he shouldn’t look at for his own sanity, but when he looked up, he just found himself distracted by Aziraphale’s braces... and his bowtie... and his beaming smile that made Crowley’s stomach unceremoniously flop upside down.

"Oh, well now, aren't you _stunning_?" Aziraphale cooed, and for a moment Crowley allowed himself to imagine that Aziraphale was talking to _him_. Tartan Princess abandoned the food tray and bounded over to Aziraphale. He got down onto his knees, lowering his face nearer to the ground, allowing her to snuffle enthusiastically at him.

_Traitor._

_It’s fine, I'm not jealous._

_I’m not jealous of a fucking pig._

“Yes, I know! Yes, you _are_ gorgeous!” Crowley’s mouth hung open as he watched Aziraphale fussing over Princess. She was lapping it up, and even licked his face. Aziraphale laughed, and it was one of the sweetest sounds Crowley had ever heard. “Hello, darling. Hello.”

Aziraphale sat up straight and turned to Crowley, that delighted smile still lingering on his face. Crowley drew in a shuddering breath.

“I do like her ribbon. Tartan is stylish.”

_Oh fuck, are we having a **conversation** now?_

Crowley swallowed hard, following with his eyes as Aziraphale gently smoothed his palm along the length of Princess’s back, watching in a way that was totally devoid of any jealousy whatsoever. Theoretically.

_He has nice hands._

Crowley thought perhaps he should actually look at Aziraphale’s _face_ , but one more look at that bright, beaming smile and he thought he might actually melt. Didn’t seem worth the risk. He made a noncommittal sound comprised entirely of consonants in response.

“Her name’s _Tartan_ Princess, what else was I gonna do?” he grunted, still watching his pig, who had collapsed onto her side to let Aziraphale vigorously rub her stomach. Watching the movement of Aziraphale’s hand was doing all sorts of things to Crowley, his stomach clenching and his skin flushing with more than just the heat of the midsummer’s day.

_Why is he talking to me? I can’t cope with this._

“Did you not name her?” Aziraphale asked. Ok, this was definitely meant to be a conversation.

“No, I took her in,” Crowley explained, finally turning to look at Aziraphale, who was listening with sincere interest. That was an expression Crowley hadn’t seen while he was talking to someone for a long while. “Her old owner was an arsehole, said she was too big, that she needed to ‘lose the gut’, so I took her off him. His loss. Should have seen his face when she started winning so many races.”

Crowley smirked at the memory.

“That was very kind of you.”

“Nah, she’s awesome. You just needed some love, didn’t you, precious?”

Being very careful to avoid something catastrophic like his arm bumping Aziraphale’s, Crowley reached out and affectionately stroked Princess’s cheek. She rolled onto her feet and approached him, and Crowley grinned at her, attempting a bit of human-pig telepathic communication ( _that’s right, don’t get distracted by a pretty face, remember where your food comes from_ ). He bent down to kiss her on the top of her head, and Princess lifted her trotters up and pushed against his chest. Crowley let himself fall back onto the grass and Princess climbed on top of him, snuffling at his neck and licking his face. Crowley laughed and ruffled her hair.

“I love you too, gorgeous.”

Crowley heard the sound of Aziraphale clearing his throat and climbing up from the ground. Crowley tilted his head back to look at him, hovering above him again and fidgeting with his hands, clasped together at his waist.

“Right, well, yes… Congratulations again. Enjoy the rest of the day.”

And with that, Aziraphale vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

**~~~ Race 2 ~~~**

Race 2 had quite a lot in common with race 1, although this time Pig seemed to speed up towards the end, he’d probably be a good racing pig with a bit more practice, and Brian might have done quite well if he hadn’t got distracted by a patch of mud in the middle of the course. Once again, Dick Turpin did a pretty good job of blocking the other pigs, but it was Speed Demon and Tartan Princess racing ahead towards the finish line. This time, Speed Demon crossed the line first by no more than a snout’s length. Well, at least Aziraphale would be happy.

_Wait. **What**? No! He’s the enemy!_

Ok, that might have been overstating things a little bit, but they couldn’t _both_ win, and this competition belonged to Princess.

Just like before, most of the pigs lost interest in the treat trays once the larger pieces had all been eaten, but Tartan Princess never wasted anything. This time, Speed Demon was loitering too, but whereas Princess was sniffing the food tray, Demon was sniffing _Princess_.

_Oi! Back off from my pig!_

Crowley rushed over and sat himself down on the ground between the two pigs, effectively hog-blocking. He rubbed Princess’s head and leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

“You did great. You don’t have to take pity on that scrawny-looking thing, you know.”

A few seconds later, Aziraphale arrived, settling onto the ground beside Crowley, so close that this time their arms _did_ brush against each other. A small, involuntary, pathetic sort of sound emerged from the back of Crowley’s throat, but it was hopefully masked by all the lively chatter and activity around them.

“Good boy! You did so well!” Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley squeezed his eyes closed for a few seconds. Thank fuck he had his sunglasses to hide behind. When he opened his eyes, he saw Aziraphale sitting cross-legged on the floor, cradling Speed Demon in his arms. “Yes, I know you did! You’re such a good boy!”

“Ngk.”

“That was a close one, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale asked brightly, turning to Crowley, who was staring entranced at the adorable vision in front of him, Aziraphale holding Speed Demon gently in his arms, stroking his hand rhythmically over his pig’s back.

_Is this really happening? Doesn’t this count as fraternising with the enemy or something?_

“Erm... yeah, I guess.”

“They’re in joint first place at the moment!”

“Yeah, I know,” Crowley mumbled, doing a rather excellent impersonation of a stone that someone was trying to get blood out of.

_Oh, come on, you idiot, he’s just trying to be friendly! Give the poor man a break, it’s not his fault he’s so breathtakingly gorgeous._

“I think this competition might be rather hard to call today! Even for those amongst us who claim to be psychic!” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Mmm. Yeah.”

_For fuck’s sake, Crowley. **Breathe**._

Aziraphale looked crestfallen, and Crowley’s heart sank into his stomach.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry; I didn’t mean to disturb you. We’ll just get out of your way.”

_Shit!_

“No, s’all right. Sorry. Erm... shall we get these two back to the paddock?”

Aziraphale’s face brightened a little.

“Yes, that sounds like a splendid idea.”

On the short walk over to the paddock, Crowley was relieved to have Princess in his arms as a distraction. Aside from the occasional glance up to check he wasn’t about to crash into someone, he kept his gaze trained on her, and definitely _not_ on Aziraphale. His stomach was churning; was he really so completely inept at interacting with other human beings that he’d made the softest, most adorable creature he’d ever met (aside from the loveliness currently tickling his neck with her snout) feel like he was... what? Annoying him? Imposing on him? And all along, Aziraphale probably just felt bad that Crowley was here on his own and didn’t know anyone he could speak to, and was making an effort to be nice. He deserved better.

The quickening of Crowley’s heart was the first clue that he was considering actually opening his mouth and saying something to Aziraphale. He rehearsed the words in his mind.

_I’m sorry if I made you feel bad just now, I was just a bit distracted. You seem really nice. Thank you for talking to me._

_Call **me** ‘good boy’ if you like._

Ok, maybe not that last part.

But if Crowley _had_ been about to actually say something, the words were lost when a loud voice started bellowing from across the paddock.

“What the fuck?” Crowley spun around to locate the source, his eyes settling on an old man holding up a sign saying ‘beware their evil wiles’.

“Oh, not to worry, my dear, that’s just Mr Shadwell, Tracy’s husband.”

_‘My dear’..._

“What’s he talking about?”

“Witchcraft.”

“Like you do.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly, and Crowley could feel his cheeks heating. Damn it. He lowered Tartan Princess into the paddock as a distraction, and Aziraphale set down Speed Demon as well. The two of them ran off together, and Crowley eyed the skinny black pig suspiciously.

“This usually happens around the second or third race. Anathema will be over in a moment to argue with him, oh, and fair warning, soon after that you can expect a visit from him yourself.”

“ _Me_? What have I done? I’m not a witch!”

“He’ll be asking you for money.”

“Right, makes sense. And it’s always like this?”

“Always,” Aziraphale replied with a fond smile, as if he actually enjoyed the predictability of such seemingly bizarre events. “He is rather passionate about the topic; he has an aversion to anything occult. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Erm... ok.”

Aziraphale leaned in, his blue-grey eyes literally twinkling, and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s why I chose the name Speed Demon for this one. I thought it would be funny. Mr Shadwell doesn’t really talk to me now.”

Aziraphale giggled. He fucking _giggled_ , and it sounded _heavenly_.

“You bastard,” Crowley retorted, and he knew he’d sounded impressed, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Instead, he focused on trying to ignore the wibbly-wobbly things happening in his stomach.

“Ah, right on cue,” Aziraphale announced, discreetly pointing a finger in Shadwell’s direction. Crowley watched as Professional Descendant’s owner, Anathema, stormed over to him.

“Seriously, Mr Shadwell, I think there are more important things for us to worry about in the world right now than witches! You do know they’re chopping down the rainforests just so you can get a cheap hamburger, right?”

“Aye, ye would sympathise with witches, wouldn’t ye? With yer heathen ways, predicting the future!”

“It’s not my fault you lost all that money...”

“These pigs have far too many nipples!”

“They’re _pigs_ , Mr Shadwell.”

“Aye. Well, how many nipples have _ye_ got?”

“I’m not going to talk about my nipples with you!”

“See, ye don’t answer because ye know it’s true! Yer a witch!”

“I don’t think someone not wanting to talk about their nipples in public is particularly strange, Mr Shadwell.”

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and watched. He was actually quite enjoying the spectacle. Tracy, Scooter’s owner, appeared and placed her hand gently on Shadwell’s arm.

“She’s right, dear. Come on, let’s go over to the stall and get you a nice cup of tea.”

“All right, all right, just gi’ me a minute...”

Shadwell began making his way around the edge of the paddock, and Aziraphale leaned in close to Crowley, whispering to him, “Good luck, my dear.” The sensation of Aziraphale’s hot breath in his ear made Crowley’s skin tingle and his knees threaten to buckle.

Crowley sucked in a breath, but only had a moment to collect himself before Shadwell appeared on his other side.

“Mr Crowley, could I have a moment of your time?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, smirked, and walked off. Bastard.

“Erm... yeah, all right.”

“Tracy and I are part of an organisation and we’re running short of funds, it’s hard times for organisations like ours in this degenerate age, ye understand. Couldn’t buy a few raffle tickets could ye? And a word to the wise, ye don’t want to appear tight-fisted on first acquaintance.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes quizzically and looked over his shoulder in the direction Tracy had headed. She was now sitting behind a stall with a pop-up banner about providing homes for retired racing pigs. So much for the pigs having too many nipples; whatever the fuck that was about, it was apparently all just bluster. Maybe these people just enjoyed taking part in that little routine, kind of like a ritual. _Must be nice to feel like you belong somewhere like that, that you have a role to play._

Tracy caught him looking and gave him a friendly wave. Crowley’s face sort of twitched in response. Maybe he managed to smile, he couldn’t really be sure.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll take five strips.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr Crowley, much appreciated.”

“Sure.”

Crowley handed a five pound note to Shadwell, and received five grubby strips of pink raffle tickets with scraggly edges, torn roughly from Shadwell’s ticket book, in return. Having got what he came for, Shadwell trudged off towards Tracy. Crowley let out a long breath and turned back to the paddock. He met Aziraphale’s eye, and Aziraphale gave him another beaming smile.

_Ngggghhhh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, we hope you're enjoying it so far! <3


	2. Races 3 and 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note there is a quick reference to drugs in this chapter.

**~~~ Race 3 ~~~**

Tartan Princess didn’t win the third race, but neither did Speed Demon. The two of them had been running side-by-side (literally pressed up against each other, which didn’t make Crowley think about their _owners_ pressed up against each other, not even for a second, honest), but they had both been blocked by Dick Turpin, who had managed to get out in front and cross the red rope at the finish line in first place. Still, it was another good result for Princess.

“Hello, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice appeared behind him, and Crowley took a moment to steady himself before turning around. “Did you happen to see who came second, please? There’s a problem with the big screen.”

It had been close, but Crowley was pretty sure that Princess had come second, although he wasn’t just going to come out and say it to rub it in Aziraphale’s face.

_I’d like to rub **myself** in Aziraphale’s face._

_Right, terrific. That doesn’t even make sense._

“Er... not completely sure, sorry, but I heard them talking about the screen. Apparently Newt’s going over to try to help though. Apparently he’s a computer engineer or something?”

“Oh no.”

There was a loud bang and the scent of wildflowers, freshly cut grass and pigs was now joined by the slightly sulphurous smell of burning cables. Crowley watched as Anathema ran over and disappeared behind the screen.

_‘Sparks will fly’ indeed..._

Crowley smiled to himself.

“Oh dear. So, ah...” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “ _Did_ you see the result of the race?”

“Didn’t _you_ see what happened?” Crowley asked, still restraining himself from declaring Tartan Princess victorious over Speed Demon.

“I couldn’t make it out I’m afraid, I was too far away. It seems only fair to let the families with young children take the spaces along the fence.”

Crowley squinted and looked Aziraphale up and down.

“Didn’t you have a pair of binoculars?”

“Er…”

“You did, big massive things, I saw you with them earlier.”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Lost them already, have you?”

“I gave them away!”

“You _what_?”

“I gave them away! To Adam Young; it’s his first time registered as an owner! He’s only just turned eleven you see, and he couldn’t get close enough to the fence to watch Pig very well… and so, I, um…”

_Oh fuck... he gave away his fancy binoculars to a child. He really is an angel._

Crowley scanned the field to find Adam, his eyes widening at what he saw.

“Er, Aziraphale... have you seen what Adam’s doing with the binoculars _now_?”

Aziraphale turned his head, following the direction of Crowley’s gaze, and they both watched as Adam alternated between watching through the binoculars and then laughing hysterically. There was a stretch of mud along the low bank between the field and the car park, and Adam was apparently enjoying watching people slip on it. Crowley sniggered quietly and covered it with a cough.

“A kid could get up to all sorts of trouble with a fancy pair of binoculars like that,” Crowley teased. _Shit_. Should he really be _teasing_ Aziraphale? If he wasn’t careful he’d end up making a complete fool of himself. Crowley had managed to avoid any interaction with the other owners aside from that brief wave from Tracy. Why did Aziraphale keep talking to him? Maybe he should reassure Aziraphale that he was fine on his own and didn’t need him to feel sorry for him and keep him company. That’s when he realised that, apparently, Aziraphale was alone too. Maybe _he_ just wanted company, although he evidently knew these people quite well.

“I do hope I haven’t done the wrong thing.”

Aziraphale’s forehead wrinkled with concern.

_‘You’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.’_

Crowley’s stomach clenched and he decided to change the subject.

“So… um… Dick Turpin… bit of a little shit, eh?” Crowley ventured, thinking about how Newt’s pig kept getting in the way of the others and slowing them down.

“Mmm, yes, he can be. Do you happen to know why he’s called Dick Turpin?”

“No… do you?”

“Oh yes. Would you like me to tell you? Young Newton is very proud of it.”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Possibly.”

“All right, go on.”

“It’s because everywhere he goes, he holds up traffic.”

A long moment of silence passed between them. Crowley set his jaw and pressed his lips together, his eyes narrowing as Aziraphale looked back at him with that ridiculous twinkle in this eye, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“That’s quite possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I actually think it’s rather clever.”

Crowley scoffed. “Yeah, if you say so, angel.”

_Oh no! Shitshitshitshitshit!_

Crowley turned away to give himself a moment to cringe privately. Maybe it would be ok. Aziraphale didn’t know him very well, he hadn’t seen him interacting with anyone else except Shadwell. For all Aziraphale knew, maybe Crowley called _everyone_ angel. Was he going to have to do that now? Crowley imagined calling Shadwell ‘angel’ and scrunched his nose up. Fortunately, if Aziraphale had noticed the inappropriate term of endearment, he didn’t comment on it. Now Crowley just needed to make a swift exit.

“Right, well, er... I’m gonna go find coffee before the next race. Maybe you could go and ask the guy with the camera who came second?”

“Oh, I... yes, I suppose I could. All right.”

Aziraphale sounded _disappointed_. Maybe he really did just want some company, but Crowley wasn’t sure how much more of Aziraphale’s company he could handle. Every time Aziraphale looked at him with those gorgeous stormy blue eyes, every time he laughed and smiled, or lavished affection and praise on that stupid skinny black pig, Crowley’s heart threatened to crawl its way out of his chest, up along the length of his throat and jump out through his mouth to make a bid for freedom. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault; he couldn’t possibly know that he was single-handedly responsible for turning Crowley’s insides into a pool of boiling goo that got stirred up every time he opened his mouth and spoke with that sweet, soft voice of his.

“See you later,” Crowley mumbled, sauntering off in the direction of the food stalls with his hands shoved as far as they would go into his pockets.

**~~~ Race 4 ~~~**

At the end of the fourth race, which saw Tartan Princess doing well until she got distracted by a treat that had been dropped onto the track ( _better not have been intentional sabotage!_ ), Crowley’s plan was simply to try to hide from Aziraphale. This plan was not formed in the absence of any guilt about the matter, but it seemed necessary for the sake of his own sanity. Maybe he could hide in the Bentley for a bit. Crowley loved his car; he’d managed to get the backseats adapted with a large carrier for Princess, and liked to believe he was something of an expert at blending style and substance, form and function.

Princess had come third in race 4, and Speed Demon had won (with Express Delivery seeming to wake up a bit to take second), so Crowley could tell himself that he was hiding just because he didn’t want to give Aziraphale the opportunity to gloat. Not that Aziraphale had given Crowley the impression he _would_ gloat, but still...

Crowley quickly headed over to the finish line and scooped up Princess, even though she was still eating the treats (“I’m sorry sweetheart, please do this for me, you had an extra treat during the race, I can’t face him again, I’m really sorry”), quickly returning her to the holding paddock before making his way to the car park, diligently avoiding the perilous patch of mud on the side of the bank.

Crowley unlocked the Bentley and flopped down into the driver’s seat.

_I literally just ran away from a lovely, gorgeous man. What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Crowley rested his head on the steering wheel for a while. It was fine. Aziraphale would talk to whomever he normally talked to at these things (he probably _was_ just trying to be nice) and Crowley would come up with something to keep himself entertained. Maybe he could glue coins to the tarmac and watch to see how many people tried to pick them up. He hadn’t done that for a little while, it only worked when he went somewhere where people didn’t know him. He smirked and opened the glove box, pulling out the bag of coins and bottle of glue, but then his hands dropped into his lap and his head flopped back down against the steering wheel. His heart wasn’t really in it. It’s a well-known fact that laughter evolved as a _social_ thing. Nothing is quite as funny when you’re on your own.

Crowley lifted his head and scanned his eyes across the field ahead of him, full of happy groups of people enjoying their day out together.

_Maybe I **should** go and talk to Aziraphale. If I don’t, am I just going to leave here regretting not taking every opportunity to talk to an actual fucking angel, even if it is like some kind of unbearable torture?_

Crowley couldn’t actually see Aziraphale; he was probably having a cup of tea in the owner’s tent or something. But he did spot Adam with a small group of other kids, presumably his friends. They were passing the binoculars between them and laughing. Crowley blew out a long breath. Maybe it was time to hand on the baton.

Crowley clambered out of the car with the coins and glue still in hand and approached the kids. Their demeanour changed as soon as it became apparent that he was heading towards them, their mirthful expressions dissolving into feigned innocence tinged with apprehension, the binoculars finding their way behind Adam’s back.

“Hi. Adam Young, isn’t it? Pig’s owner?”

“Yeah. You own Tartan Princess, don’t you? She’s really good.”

“She’s amazing,” Crowley agreed. “Pretty funny watching people slip over on the mud, isn’t it?”

At that moment, taking in the looks on the kids’ faces, Crowley felt like an ancient relic that someone had dug up on an archaeological expedition, an expedition that had itself happened about 200 years ago, infecting all of the archaeologists with some kind of horrible fungal disease, which they didn’t understand so attributed to a curse, because this was before the invention of antifungal drugs... oh, and then all of the archaeologists had died.

_Old_ , he felt old.

“We weren’t doing anything wrong,” Adam defended. Crowley felt even older. Less archaeological find and more like a joke the palaeontologists hadn’t discovered yet.

“I know. There’s not much to do around here, is there? Maybe you could glue coins to the car park, see how many people you can get to try to pick them up?”

Crowley held out the coins and glue, and the kids eyed him with suspicion.

“Actually, that seems like rather a waste of money,” one of the other kids piped up.

“Then spend it on doughnuts or something, I don’t care. Do you want the stuff or not?”

Adam grinned and took the proffered illicit goods, forcing him to reveal the binoculars that he had stowed behind his back. “Thanks, Mr Crowley.”

“Don’t mention it. Good luck to Pig for the last two races.”

They kids exchanged an amused, albeit slightly confused, glance and ran off towards the car park. Excellent. All of the results with none of the effort, like taking a position in senior management.

“You’re not encouraging those children to take up glue sniffing, are you?”

Aziraphale’s perfect voice appeared from just behind him and Crowley froze, his heart stuttering and his cheeks flushing. _Fuck_.

“Well, it’s only been four races. Thought I’d save the Class A stuff for the end, you know, work up to it.”

Aziraphale laughed, his whole face lighting up, stealing all of the air from Crowley’s lungs.

“Anyway, erm... it’s solvent-free, and, you know, safe for the environment, and animals, of course, _and_ kids, doesn’t stick for very long,” Crowley rambled, for some reason feeling the need to explain himself, as if he wanted Aziraphale to actually think he was a little bit good.

_Nightmare_.

“Well, that’s good to know. I was about to walk back over to the paddock, would you walk with me?”

“Erm... sure, ok.”

Aziraphale beamed at him again. This really was like the weirdest most angelic form of hellish torture _ever_.

They began walking around the edge of the field back towards the paddock, passing the big TV screen along the way. It had been repaired, apparently with Anathema’s help. She was sitting nearby on the grass with Newt, the two of them seeming to be getting pretty well-acquainted. Newt looked nervous as hell, poor thing, his anxiety palpable when Anathema put her hand on his arm.

Crowley realised he’d stopped walking.

“Isn’t that... _unethical_ or something?”

“Unethical?”

“Yeah, you know, getting cosy with the competition.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and smiled fondly.

“I’m fairly certain there isn’t a rule against it.”

That was a _fantastic_ opening to flirt with Aziraphale. Something like, ‘Glad to hear it, our pigs are doing so well in the competition, it would be a shame for us to do something to get them disqualified’, while running his hand lightly down the length of Aziraphale’s arm.

...but that would have inevitably ended up a total disaster and definitely wasn’t going to happen.

“Do you think she’s trying to get close to him to sabotage Dick Turpin or something? Is that how she knows the results of the races? Do you think she dropped that treat onto the course to distract Princess?”

“Oh, come now, my dear, you’re starting to sound a little like Mr Shadwell.”

Crowley spluttered some kind of indignant noise, and then realised what was happening. Now Aziraphale was teasing _him_.

Aziraphale was teasing him.

_Shit._

“And I wouldn’t worry about young Newton, the two of them have been growing close for quite some time now.”

_‘It’s going to be a very good day for me’... shit, maybe she i **s** psychic._

Crowley and Aziraphale made it to the holding paddock just in time to see Princess pull up a dandelion leaf and Speed Demon start munching on the other end of it like something out of Lady and the fucking Tramp.

“Oh, isn’t that lovely?” Aziraphale cooed, clasping his hands together delightedly in front of him.

_Oh God, Satan, **Someone** please help me!_

Crowley was now willing to admit that he _was_ jealous of his pig. He found himself wishing that interactions between humans could be that simple.

_Hey, Aziraphale, I actually really like you, let’s munch on a dandelion leaf together and maybe our lips could meet in the middle._

_Ridiculous._

Crowley was well-attuned to Princess’s moods, and she was evidently thoroughly enjoying Speed Demon’s company. The more Crowley had seen of Speed Demon in action, the more he begrudgingly had to admit that he could see the appeal, from a pig’s perspective at least. He was a bit of a flash bastard with his posh red ribbon (the fancy tartan ribbon Crowley gave _Princess_ to wear was simply to help the spectators to identify her... honest), but the pig was quite cool in his own way, and certainly lived up to his name.

Since Princess and Speed Demon were getting along so well, Crowley wondered whether he should take advantage of the situation. Maybe he and Aziraphale could actually be friends. More than friends, which would have been his preferred option, seemed extremely unlikely, but _friends_ , that could work, right?

One thing was for sure, Crowley needed to get his act together, remember how to breathe ( _animals have been breathing for millions of years, it really can’t be that hard_ ), and start making more of an effort to be _friendly_. Otherwise the chances of Aziraphale wanting anything more to do with him after today were slim to none.

He just needed to somehow avoid making a complete fool of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying so far! :-)
> 
> We'll swap to Aziraphale's POV for the last chapter and there will be more adorable artwork! <3


	3. Races 5 and 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The competition comes to an end, but which pig will be declared the winner?

**~~~ Race 5 ~~~**

Aziraphale glanced at the big screen displaying the scoreboard. Speed Demon had been in first place at the end of race 4, and he still was, but he was now sharing that position with Tartan Princess, who had come second in race 5, with Dick Turpin taking first place and Speed Demon third. Express Delivery had had a good run but definitely seemed to be getting tired again. All that travelling must be rather a lot for a pig.

Aziraphale rushed over to the finish line and scooped up his little Demon, holding him close against his body. Demon squealed and wriggled a bit, trying to get Aziraphale to put him back down. It was obvious why; he wanted to stay with Tartan Princess. The two of them had been huddled up next to each other contentedly munching on treats before Aziraphale had arrived and separated them. He sighed heavily and began marching determinedly towards the paddock.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Come on, let’s get you to the paddock, I’m sure she won’t be far behind.”

Aziraphale had been tempted to stay at the finish line, to sit on the ground beside his pig and his pig’s new friend and find another excuse to talk to said pig’s exceedingly handsome, mysterious and quick-witted owner. They had spoken for the past four races, but each time it had been _Aziraphale_ who had approached _Crowley_. After the fourth race, he’d even convinced himself that Crowley was trying to hide from him, until he’d managed to muster up a little more self-confidence and approached him anyway. Now he wasn’t sure whether that confidence had been justified. Crowley certainly seemed to be humouring him, but he wasn’t _choosing_ to spend time with Aziraphale, so Aziraphale had decided it would probably be best to leave the poor man alone.

He lowered Demon into the paddock and sat down on the grass. Demon stayed close to the wire fence and looked up at Aziraphale with wide, sad amber eyes.

“Now, now, my dear, come on, don’t look at me like that. You mustn’t go getting too attached, all right? We might never see them again.”

Aziraphale didn’t even pretend that his words were intended only for Demon’s benefit. Demon padded closer, his eyes boring into Aziraphale’s heart.

“Yes, I know. I tried, sweetheart. I’m afraid I don’t think he’s interested.”

Aziraphale stuck his finger through the gaps in the wire, smiling somewhat forlornly as Demon snuffled at him.

“You’re my very best friend, my dear, but I think we _both_ know that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

The other owners began to arrive with their pigs. When Crowley lowered Tartan Princess into the paddock, Aziraphale’s heart felt like it was going to burst at the way his beloved Demon’s demeanour instantly changed. He perked up and bounded over to her, and the two of them began nuzzling each other affectionately. Oh well, at least one of them had made a new friend today.

Aziraphale kept his eyes trained on the pigs until he saw Crowley approach out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look at him and found Crowley lowering himself down onto the grass beside him. He really was extremely handsome. As the day had progressed, Crowley’s perfectly-styled auburn hair that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight had been gradually rebelling against whatever he’d done to style it, a strand now artfully flopping over Crowley’s forehead. Aziraphale suppressed the urge to brush it out of the way.

“Hey.”

Since Aziraphale had been the one to initiate all of their encounters so far, he’d always had time to prepare himself to talk to Crowley. Now he found that his mouth was suddenly dry, his heart beating uncomfortably fast in his chest. Crowley had approached _him_.

“Hello,” he managed in response.

Aziraphale swallowed and turned back to the pigs. They were both grunting happily and tugging on the grass with their teeth.

“Hey... erm... thank you.”

“For what?” Aziraphale furrowed his brow, looking at Crowley quizzically.

“Nyeahh, you know. For talking to me.”

“Oh. I was concerned that I was bothering you.”

“Shit, no, sorry, not at all! No, it’s... you’re... erm... thanks.”

Aziraphale’s stomach felt like a hurricane was swirling around and gathering strength in the middle of it. Crowley was _thanking_ him for talking to him. Was he just... _shy_?

“Well in that case you are very welcome. It’s been lovely talking to you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale fought the urge to press his hand to his chest to try to quell the building turbulence there. Might Crowley actually _like_ him?

“Well, perhaps we could...” Aziraphale began, but was interrupted by the commentator’s voice materialising over the speaker system.

“Attention, everyone! It’s now time for the Racing Pig Retirement Trust’s raffle! I’m going to hand over to Tracy to announce the winners!”

Aziraphale wiggled excitedly and pulled his tickets out of his pocket. He always loved a good raffle, and this one was for a very good cause. When he looked back at Crowley, he had his tickets in his lap too. Aziraphale didn’t win anything, but he was just as excited as he would have been to win a prize himself when ticket number 666, which belonged to Crowley, was drawn.

“Hurry now so you can choose a good prize before the next ticket is drawn!” Aziraphale advised him. He had once had a rather unfortunate run-in with someone trying to take the last box of chocolate truffles when Aziraphale’s ticket number had clearly been called first. They had soon learned the error of their ways.

Crowley didn’t look _too_ excited, although there was a slight twitching at the corner of his mouth like maybe he was trying to restrain himself from smiling, as though he had an image he was trying to maintain. Aziraphale wished he would take those sunglasses off so that he could actually see Crowley’s eyes.

He watched Crowley walk away in the direction of Tracy’s table of raffle prizes and then turned his attention back to the pigs. Tartan Princess and Speed Demon had curled up together on the grass, dozing peacefully.

“I do hope you’ll have the chance to see each other again,” Aziraphale murmured softly.

There was only one race left. One more chance to talk to Crowley.

**~~~ Race 6 ~~~**

After Crowley had returned from the raffle table with a bottle of wine in hand (which turned out to be a lovely Châteauneuf-du-Pape that Aziraphale would have quite liked to have won himself), they had taken it in turns to guard the wine while they each delivered their pigs to the starting pen for the final race. Aziraphale had chosen to take it as a good sign that Crowley hadn’t used the wine as an excuse to go back to his car, and had, instead, remained at his side.

They managed to find a spot along the fence of the course to watch the final race. Speed Demon and Tartan Princess were tied for first place, with 34 points each, and it seemed very likely that one of them would be taking home the trophy, although Dick Turpin was close behind in second place with 33 points. It all came down to this.

“Good luck, my dear.”

Aziraphale bravely nudged Crowley with his elbow.

“Thanks, you too,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale’s heart thumped hard as the pigs were released from the starting pen and began to run towards the finish line. He was silently cheering Demon on, but he wouldn’t have minded if Tartan Princess had won. It might be nice actually, for Crowley to win the big trophy on his first visit to Tadfield. Perhaps that would even motivate him to come back.

Tartan Princess and Speed Demon were running side-by-side, clearly not wanting to be apart from each other. Then Aziraphale heard Crowley gasp beside him as Tartan Princess abruptly stopped running. She hadn’t been distracted by a treat this time, but seemed to have got her foot stuck in a divot. Crowley grabbed hold of the fence.

“Do you think she’s hurt?” Aziraphale asked, his voice full of concern.

“She looks ok. Do you think I should I go and pick her up?”

“I don’t think you need to,” Aziraphale replied, watching as Speed Demon did an about-turn and returned to his new friend’s side, nudging her foot free from the ground. Tartan Princess nuzzled him enthusiastically in what appeared to be an expression of gratitude, and then the two of them raced off towards the red rope at the end of the course, finishing in last place. Aziraphale doubted the camera would be able to discern which of them had crossed the line first, and suspected they would be sharing the honour of coming joint last in the final race.

Apparently help really _had_ come from an unexpected quarter, for Tartan Princess anyway.

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, whose lips were parted slightly as he watched the pigs munch on their reward. Aziraphale once again wished he could properly see his eyes.

“Right... well that was a thing.”

“Yes, it was rather,” Aziraphale agreed. “They do seem to really like each other.”

_I really like **you** as well._

The scoreboard was updated, revealing Dick Turpin as the winner of the Tadfield Summer Pig Racing Championships. Thanks to their earlier performance, Tartan Princess and Speed Demon achieved a commendable joint-second.

So Aziraphale wouldn’t be taking home the big trophy, but at least Demon had won another lovely rosette for the collection, and both Tartan Princess and Speed Demon getting distracted had allowed Pig to achieve a top-three position for the first time in all of the races. Despite Pig’s overall position second-to-last, Adam was celebrating with his parents and friends. Aziraphale was pleased for him, but envied the camaraderie Adam was now enjoying. Most of the time when Speed Demon won a trophy, or even broke a record, the most Aziraphale got was a few brusque handshakes offered only out of a sense of obligation. That said, Tadfield was different. Tadfield was a friendly place. His last time here, when Speed Demon had won the top prize, at least Tracy had given him a hug and all of the owners had had tea together in the tent at the end of the event. But it wasn’t the same as having someone who, in a crowded field, would choose to seek you out above all others.

The commentator’s voice materialised again.

“Could the owners of Dick Turpin, Speed Demon, Tartan Princess and Professional Descendant please collect their pigs and make their way over to the podium.”

“I’m really sorry,” Crowley mumbled as they made their way through the crowd.

“Whatever for, my dear?”

“Speed Demon would have won if Princess hadn’t distracted him.”

“Well, there are some things more important than winning trophies. They do seem to have taken rather a liking to each other, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do.”

They took a detour, stopping by the owner’s tent to safely stow away Crowley’s raffle prize, before heading to the finish line and scooping up their pigs. With Tartan Princess securely held against him with one arm, Crowley reached out with his free hand and scratched the top of Speed Demon’s head. Aziraphale experienced a rush of affection that brought colour to his cheeks.

“Good boy,” Crowley praised, and Aziraphale swallowed roughly as Demon nuzzled Crowley’s hand. “Yes you are, aren’t you?”

Crowley withdrew his hand long enough to push his sunglasses up onto his head, and Aziraphale stopped breathing for a second. Crowley’s eyes were _stunning_ and twinkled in the bright sunshine. Crowley suddenly appeared entirely unguarded, a beaming smile spreading across his face.

“You clever thing, rescuing my Princess like that. I know! I know you are! And so gorgeous, aren’t you?” Demon licked Crowley’s hand, eliciting a soft chuckle from Crowley that made Aziraphale’s heart flutter. “Are you my friend now? Yeah?”

_Yes. Yes **please** be my friend._

“You must be a good influence,” Crowley murmured softly, his voice deep and low. Crowley glanced up at him, giving Aziraphale an uninhibited look into those lovely, deep brown eyes. “A pig’s upbringing is an important determinant of their character. Doesn’t matter what you name them. You’re no demon, are you?” he asked, his attention once again focused on the pig in Aziraphale’s arms. Crowley rubbed his knuckles against Demon’s cheek.

“Shh, don’t let Shadwell hear you say that!”

Crowley laughed openly then, and Aziraphale felt a little wobbly on his legs. This was silly, he’d only just met the man today, he really should be better able to control himself. But there was something about Crowley, this enigmatic stranger dressed all in black who had made Aziraphale laugh more today than he had in long time, who seemed like, just maybe, he was just as uncertain and alone as Aziraphale was.

The two of them walked together to the podium. The two pigs seemed delighted when they were placed down on the second place block together. It was almost as if they had planned it that way all along, but they’re pigs, so that would be ridiculous. Demon snuffled at Tartan Princess for a while, and they rubbed their cheeks together.

“It... erm...” Crowley began, his eyes flitting about in a manner that suggested apprehension.

_You have no reason to be apprehensive with me. Please talk to me._

“It seems a shame to separate them.”

“Yes, it does. I’m sure their paths will cross again at other races, though.”

That wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted to say, but he couldn’t say what he _actually_ wanted to say, could he? And what was that? “We should let them see each other; we’d be like chaperones, sort of, overseeing their dates”?

_Listen to yourself._

“Nyeahh, yeah, I guess, but... they don’t know that, do they? There’s no way for us to tell them.”

Speed Demon was now eagerly circling Tartan Princess. Aziraphale’s heart ached when he pictured Speed Demon’s behaviour later. He would probably just flop himself down in a corner, sad, confused and alone, and in his armchair in the corner of his living room, Aziraphale would do the same.

Newt arrived to set Dick Turpin down on the first place block, and after Anathema set down Professional Descendant in third, she grabbed Newt’s hand and pulled him close to her, kissing him on the cheek. Aziraphale was happy for them, but today that happiness was like being offered his favourite cake at the end of a huge meal - sweet, but still unsavoury and hard to swallow.

Of course, he could always take a leaf out of Anathema’s book and be brave too.

“Well, perhaps we could let them see each other more frequently. Take them somewhere to run around a bit together.”

_Please say yes._

“Um... yeah. Good idea. Let’s... let’s do that.”

“Splendid.”

Aziraphale lightly touched his hand to the small of Crowley’s back. Crowley’s cheeks flushed, and Aziraphale could actually _feel_ the way his muscles tensed beneath his fingers.

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale retracted his hand and dipped his chin, feeling a little warm himself.

“Princess, no...” Crowley suddenly whispered. “ _Aziraphale_!”

Aziraphale’s head shot back up and he followed Crowley’s gaze to the podium, where Tartan Princess was lying down, his beloved Demon mounting her.

“Oh dear.”

Aziraphale rushed over to the podium and scooped up Demon, who wriggled around in protest in his arms.

“Now, now, we don’t do that here, do we? No matter how much we might want to,” he whispered, unable to stop himself from looking at Crowley, who was now walking over to them. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear.”

“S’all right; she started it. Might have ruined the photos though.”

“I don’t think he er... I mean, I’m pretty sure I got to him before...” Aziraphale’s cheeks were now burning, but Crowley had an amused smirk on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve actually been thinking about... you know... giving her that option? Might be nice to have some piglets. Move aside Professional Descendant, no pig could beat a combination of Princess and Demon’s genes!”

Aziraphale chuckled nervously, feeling a little flustered.

“What do you think they would look like? Black and white spotted things, I suppose? They might be rather cute.”

“Yeah, probably would be.”

“Could I,” Aziraphale began, then cleared his throat. “Could I give you my telephone number? So we can arrange for the pigs to see each other? And so that you can contact me if it turns out that I wasn’t quick enough and I _am_ going to be a grandfather?”

“’Course,” Crowley said quietly, his mouth curving into a smile again.

Crowley extracted his phone from a ridiculously tight pocket in his ridiculously tight jeans, unlocked it, and passed it over to Aziraphale. The wallpaper was an adorable photo of Crowley holding both Tartan Princess and a trophy, with a beaming smile on his face. Aziraphale’s heart turned to mush. With Speed Demon still cradled against his body, Aziraphale awkwardly typed in his number with one hand and passed the phone back to Crowley.

“Right, well… I’d better pick up Princess and get going.”

“Oh, yes, right, of course. Well, it was an absolute pleasure to meet you; I look forward to seeing you again sometime soon.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ll call you.”

Aziraphale’s chest felt like it might burst from excitement, so he hugged Speed Demon closer to him to dispel some of his nervous energy. Crowley reached out and started petting the black pig, scratching behind his ears and beaming at him.

“May I kiss you goodbye?” he asked, leaning in close. Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

“Oh... yes, of course.”

Crowley grinned and bent down, kissing Speed Demon on the top of the head.

Right, of course, the pig; he was asking if he could kiss the _pig_. Aziraphale felt like an idiot.

“Oh… oh, right.”

“You ok?”

“Yes, absolutely. Tickety boo.”

“ _Tickety boo_?” Crowley studied him, and Aziraphale shifted between his feet uncomfortably. “What’s wrong?”

“I just thought you meant… I thought…”

Crowley tilted his head and smiled. “Want me to kiss you too?”

“Would you like to?”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Then yes please.” Aziraphale’s voice was barely more than a whisper. He gave Crowley his best puppy dog eyes and his heart fluttered with anticipation as Crowley stepped closer. Speed Demon was a minor obstacle between them, but Crowley managed to slip his fingers underneath Aziraphale’s braces and tug him towards him, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. Aziraphale’s body flooded with warmth and his skin tingled like it was on fire. He released a shuddering breath and gazed intently into Crowley’s eyes.

“Actually... do you want to come back to my place? We could share that bottle of wine I won? Let the pigs spend some more time together?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more,” Aziraphale responded, still sounding a little breathless.

“Terrific.”

Crowley headed over to the podium and scooped up Princess into his arms, the second place rosette now affixed to her tartan ribbon.

“Good boy,” Aziraphale whispered, resting his cheek against the top of Speed Demon’s head. “You did so well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, we hope you enjoyed it! :-)
> 
> We can confirm that they all live happily ever after! <3 The piglet with horn tufts is called Eric, we're open to suggestions for names for the others!


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